Voice of Reason
by madame.alexandra
Summary: As reluctant as the both of them are to end such an unhealthy affair, they know they have to. They just wish it could be like it was in Paris. Jibbs. Songfic; set to a blend of two songs. Smut/Angst. Smangst. You know me!


_A/N: This is a very strange sort of songfic. I've never done anything like it before, but I could not get the concept out of my head, and as a friend of mine had mentioned wanting to see a 'Tomorrow' Jibbs fic, I went with this creative license. It is a blend of Brad Paisley&Carrie Underood's "Remind Me" and Chris Young's "Tomorrow". It focuses mostly on the plot of "Tomorrow", and most of the "Remind Me" aspects are spoken through the characters._

_Set in late Season5._

_Disclaimer: I've taken some artistic license with the songs; not all of the lyrics are present in either one, and it is adjusted to fit the story/dialogue. _

* * *

><p><em>Tomorrow<br>I'm gonna leave here_

She lay on her back, and it was almost like she was holding her breath. She kept her eyes closed lightly, her lower lip bitten gently, and her body still; she concentrated on the way he was moving his hand over her lazily, touching her with knowledge only he possessed.

She didn't know if this was good for her, or if it were just hurting her more.

He pressed his lips to her shoulder, closer to her, leaning over her almost possessively; desperately. She missed him already, and he hadn't even left yet. But she knew, and he knew, that this had to stop.

Her eyes popped open and she stared at the ceiling.

"I don't want you to come over anymore," she murmured quietly, voicing the thought she knew that, somehow, both of them were having.

"I know," he said gruffly. His lips brushed against her collarbone and he spoke into her skin, his hair whispering against her skin and scratching against her cheek. "I won't."

She swore he had promised her that before. Hell—she swore she'd promised herself she wouldn't open the door when he knocked. After every bad day and every traumatic case, she opened the door. Every time.

"I want you to mean it, Jethro," she said softly; firmly. "It has to stop. I can't take it."

_I'm gonna let you go and walk away  
><em>_Like every day I said I would_

He splayed his hand over her hip, fingers covering her skin from the top of her thigh to just below her navel, and he swallowed, and nodded, his forehead moving against her shoulder.

"I get it, Jen," he said hoarsely.

He slid his hand down, grasped her knee, and pulled her leg up, trailing his fingers purposefully along the inside of her thigh. She caught her breath and closed her eyes again, clamping her teeth together.

It didn't matter how many times they said goodbye tonight; it wouldn't ever be enough.

_and tomorrow  
><em>_I'm gonna listen  
><em>_to that voice of reason inside my head  
><em>_Tellin' me that we're no good_

She had to _make_ it enough. It didn't matter how she knew she felt about him; she knew enough now to understand that he would never be able to give her what she needed—and there wasn't time left anyway. She wanted a clean break. She wanted it over. It was about time she stopped trying to make this Paris.

He moved his mouth down her shoulder, shifting closer to her, his body fitting against her side, and she sucked in her breath. He slipped a finger inside of her and lifted his head to kiss her lips, pushing his forehead against hers.

"Jen," he said huskily. "It's not even midnight yet," he told her. "Got all night."

_But tonight I'm gonna give in one last time  
><em>_rock you strong in these arms of mine  
><em>_forget all the regrets that are bound to follow_

She nodded, and tilted her head up, kissing him back. She reached over and pressed her hand against his neck, feeling his pulse, pulling him harder against her lips.

She closed her eyes.

_We're like fire and gasoline  
><em>_I'm no good for you  
><em>_You're no good for me  
><em>_We only bring each other tears and sorrow_

___But tonight  
><em>_I'm gonna love you like there's no  
><em>_Tomorrow_

She hated that she had to end this when it felt so good. Physical satisfaction wasn't everything, though, and emotionally, the ex-lovers-with-benefits-and-baggage relationship they engaged in was hell; it was painful. She didn't know how it felt to him, and he wouldn't ever tell her, but it was detrimental to her health.

He was a comfort and a guilty pleasure, and they were so good together—but she couldn't settle for that. They were good because they knew each other; they understood each other. She couldn't bring herself to settle for good anymore—not when she knew about his wife, and his daughter, and she knew that was always going to hold him back and she was always going to come in a solid second.

In Paris, it had been different. Ignorance _was_ bliss. His silence about his past had been intriguing; it had made the relationship easy. They had been on fire in Paris.

_I miss the way that it felt back then  
><em>_I want to feel that way again—_

She took a deep breath and tilted her head back, arching her back. Jethro kissed her jaw and pulled her tighter against him, turning her into his chest and pressing against her, his hand trapped between them.

Biting her lower lip, she buried his head in his shoulder; sliding her hand into his short, silver hair for a better grip. She remembered when his hair had been longer, and darker—browner. She remembered younger, more passionate days—days that hadn't been so filled with bitterness and regret.

_Been so long that you'd forget  
><em>_The way I used to kiss your neck  
><em>_Remind me  
><em>_Remind me_

He thrust his fingers inside her and nipped at her neck, just near her pulse, with his lips and his teeth, pressing his knee against hers firmly. She pressed her knee back, struggling to breathe. She gasped, tilting her head back.

He assaulted her neck with his mouth, pushing her onto her back again and crawling over her. She turned her head away, her eyes closed tightly, concentrating on the maddening movement of his hand.

He stopped and she gave an exasperated moan, her breath ragged. She turned to look at him and he tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her, hard and long and slow, getting her hot and getting her bothered and leaving her hanging; drawing it out—like he used to—when they had all the time in the world—

_Way back when we couldn't get enough  
><em>_Remind me  
><em>_Remind me_

"Jethro," she mumbled, shifting under him.

She let out a slow breath and closed her eyes briefly, running her hands over his chest and his arms. She pulled him back for a kiss and lifted her knees on either side of his hips, kissing him until she couldn't breathe. She gasped and threw her head back, her head spinning.

He groaned and lowered his mouth to her throat. He spoke in a low voice, his words hitting her ear temptingly; touching her mind and her soul.

"You sure you want this, Jenny?" he asked.

Was she sure she wanted what? Him to leave, him to stop coming to her at night? Yes; she was sure she wanted that. But she wanted this last night, too. To remember, and to forget.

She was just as responsible as he was when it came to this unhealthy affair. He came to her, but she never turned him away. Sometimes she went to him. Sometimes she needed him; most times she just wanted him.

_Tomorrow  
><em>_I'll be stronger  
><em>_I'm not gonna break down and call you up  
><em>_when my heart cries out for you_

This last night together, it was cathartic. It confirmed that her decision was right. The sex was good; the sex had always been good. It wasn't the same. Silently, they spent so many nights searching for the passion that had consumed them in Paris, and they couldn't find it. It was gone. She missed it. She believed he missed it.

He looked at her fiercely; intensely. His blue eyes scalded her and she almost winced, but she couldn't look away. She touched his lips and nodded curtly, pushing her hair back from her face. Her nerves were sill screaming for him to finish what he'd started.

"It isn't the same," she said hoarsely. "It isn't like Paris," she said.

He shook his head. He gave her a bitter look.

"I wish you hadn't left," he said bluntly, shrugging.

She laughed a little caustically.

"Oh, Jethro," she scorned, lifting her eyes away so he wouldn't see the tears. "I just made it easier on you," she said. "That way, you could hate me instead of hurt me."

"Jen," he mumbled, lowering his lips to the corner of hers.

His body covered hers perfectly. She turned her head and her nose collided with his; his eyes were so close, his lips so close, and her breath caught in her throat—she hadn't seen that look in—in—

She reached up and touched his face, her thumb stroking his bottom lip briefly.

"That look in your eyes," she said, shaking her head. There were so many things, so many other things that she— "I miss it so much," Jenny admitted, hating the words as they escaped her.

He looked at her that way for a long time, and then he kissed her again, and she closed her eyes.

_Remind me  
><em>_Remind me_

He was careful not to hurt her with his weight, but he pressed closer to her, hating that this was one of the last times he'd ever feel her under him. It _had_ been easier in Paris. It hadn't been this heavy. He didn't know why he'd ever thought it could be the same. He didn't want to give her this. If she wanted a clean break, he was tempted to make it hard for her—like she had made it so hard for him to forget her. He couldn't bring himself to do that to her—he couldn't put her through it.

_Tomorrow  
><em>_You won't believe it  
><em>_But when I pass your house  
><em>_I won't stop no matter how bad I want to_

She wrapped her arms around him, gripping his skin, pulling him closer and fighting him back. She arched her back and pressed her knees into his waist and he groaned at the sensation, lightheaded, dizzy. It blew his mind to think that the rest of the night was going to be like this. That the night so far had been like this.

_Tonight I'm gonna give in one last time  
><em>_Rock you strong in these arms of mine  
><em>_Forget all the regrets that are bound to follow_

She pushed him back at the shoulders and shifted, sitting up, slipping out from under him. He reached for her, giving her a look, pulling her back. She laughed, surprised, and fought him, shoving him onto his back. He grasped her thighs as she straddled him, giving her a slow, admiring look once-over before she leaned over him, her short, blonde-streaked hair just barely touching his chest when she lowered her lips to kiss him where his heart was beating.

He rested a hand on her spine, just above her bare ass, and let her; his eyes slid closed.

_We're like fire and gasoline  
><em>_I'm no good for you  
><em>_You're no good for me  
><em>_We only bring each other tears and sorrow_

She settled herself over his hips and his stomach tightened. He lifted his head and reached for her, gripping her shoulders. Her green eyes met his and she bit her lip, her cheeks flushed, her hair damp and curling slightly. The backs of his fingers brushed her face and he stroked her neck.

_Tonight  
><em>_I'm gonna love you like there's no  
><em>_Tomorrow_

It was a damn good thing they weren't in any hurry.

She crawled over him, her breasts pressing against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her back, possessive, securing her on top of him. She tightened her legs around his hips, just relishing the feel of him.

She tucked her head under his chin, biting his neck gently, sucking, kissing, and destroying his senses with her mouth. His hands pressed roughly into her back and her hips.

"Marseille," she mumbled huskily. "The first night in Marseille," she moaned.

"Second," he corrected tightly.

She nipped his collarbone roughly.

"You know what I mean," she said. She bit down on his earlobe, running her tongue along the edge. She was desperate to have that first night back—she wanted to feel the first night on what she had decided was their last night.

"I want to feel that way," she said, her voice sultry.

He tightened his grip.

_Yeah, I want to hold you close.  
><em>_Oh baby, remind me._

Why had he agreed to let her go? Because she knew. She knew about them—Shannon, and Kelly, and she knew he couldn't let them go, so he had to let everyone else go. And something in her had changed. Something that made her retreat; suddenly, she couldn't take the way things were. He didn't know what it was, but it was like a sickness in her eyes, and he didn't want to be the cause of that anymore than he had ever wanted to hurt her.

He loved her; he just _couldn't_ love her.

He reached up and tangled his hand in her hair again. It wasn't even red anymore. It wasn't the same. It wasn't long. It didn't fall in his eyes and mouth when she was on top of him.

Jenny put her elbows gently on his shoulders, shoving her hands through his hair; she quirked her eyebrow, held his gaze, and kissed him with abandon, her tongue touching every familiar part of his mouth.

She took a shaking breath, and furrowed her brow, closing her eyes.

"Do you remember the way it felt?" she asked, her voice cracking.

He snorted, and laughed, arching an eyebrow wickedly.

"You mean back when we couldn't control ourselves?" he drawled seriously.

She smiled, lifted her head, smirked, and nodded.

_Remind me  
><em>_Remind me_

He slid his hands up her back and to her neck, his thumbs stroking her jaw.

"I remember," he said huskily.

Fluidly, he reached down and pushed her leg up, using his other hand to yank her off him carefully and roll over her, a devilish glare gracing his features. He bent to kiss her shoulders, moving down to her breasts briefly and back up. He grinned.

"You weren't on top, that first night," he growled.

"I was," she protested.

He shook his head, kissing her to stop further argument. She pricked him with her nails, writhing underneath him. She laughed, managing to break this kiss.

"Jethro, I was," she snapped with a snicker, her eyes lighting up.

"Not how I remember it," he growled. He held her down drawing his hand down her body between them. "Not the first time."

"The second," she said aggressively. "Third, and fourth," she went on. "I wore you out."

"I let you," he said smugly, through the kiss he was giving her stomach as he moved lower on her body.

She sighed and gave into his touch, moving her hand down her sternum after his mouth. She splayed her hand on the inside of her thigh and tilted her head back. Reminiscing about it, it brought the feelings back. She held onto them. Just for tonight.

Just one more time.

"Remind me," she murmured. "God, Jethro," she said, when his tongue assaulted her. She whimpered and closed his eyes. "Remind me," she moaned.

She knew he was just going to tease her to the edge and stop. It was how this whole night had gone so far. It was intense; and it hurt so good. As hard as it was to think that this was it, it wasn't the worst—it wasn't the end of the world. They had an affair in Paris, and they ended it—they broke it. There wasn't anything left of it, and she didn't know why they had ever tried to recapture it.

_When we're good you know we're great  
><em>_But there's too much bad for us to think  
><em>_That there's anything worth trying to save_

"Jethro," she gasped.

She shouldn't have said it; it stopped him.

He kissed back up her body and she groaned in frustration, pushing her hair back. She bit her lip, her cheeks flushed, her breathing labored once again. He licked is lips and kissed hers, hard, and she held his head to her. She wrapped one leg around his waist and dug her heel into the small of his back.

"Don't stop," she begged hoarsely.

He thrust into her and gripped her shoulder tightly; she winced—it hurt like hell when he pressed, with all of his weight, her shoulder back into the sheets and pillows. It felt like he dislocated it, but he hadn't. He wouldn't ever go that far.

"Oh, don't stop," she moaned, throwing her head back. She bit her lip. "Jethro."

_But tonight I'm gonna give in one last time  
><em>_Rock you strong in these arms of mine  
><em>_Forget all the regrets that are bound to follow_

He gripped her hipbone tightly, holding her flush against him as he moved, and he kissed her, his lips urgent and hot. He tasted like salt, sweat, bourbon, and regret. He smelled like sawdust and Paris. He felt good on her lips. She remembered everything.

_All those things that you used to do  
><em>_That made me fall in love with you_

Tomorrow, she was going to forget everything.

She didn't want to factor him in to the decision she was going to have to make. She couldn't trust him to be there for her, and she didn't want to ask him to be. She was sick; she was going to lose everything—and she wanted to lose it with a memory of him that was closer to Paris than it was to now.

_Tonight  
><em>_I'm gonna love you like there's no  
><em>_Tomorrow_

She gasped and parted her lips, her hand shaking.

He lowered his head to her shoulder, his forehead hot and firm as he pressed it into her collarbone. She arched her back and her foot slipped; she clenched her stomach, struggling to keep a good grip on his shoulder. His bit down on her shoulder and she lost it; true to form, and just like back then.

He didn't take long after her. He pulled her hips against him hard and shuddered, kissing her erratically, and desperately, as he relaxed, a frenzied mumble of her name escaping his lips.

She closed her eyes, breathing hard. He held onto her tightly for a few minutes, and then rolled onto his back, laying next to her and close to her—but barely touching her. She tried to steady her breathing, to calm down—but she couldn't, and it wasn't because of the intensity of the climax, she realized, but that she was hurting—really hurting.

She pushed herself up and turned to look at him. He glared up at her mildly, obviously bitter about the turn of events. It was as if they moved between nostalgia and hatred.

God, it was so much better for them to end this.

She bit her lip and shook her head.

He reached over and pushed her hair back.

"Jethro," she said hoarsely.

She nearly collapsed next to him, laying her head on his shoulder. She put her arm around him, slipping her hand into his hair, almost clinging to him. He reached over and stroked her side, feeling her shiver and shake next to him. Her eyes burned and stung. She didn't want to let him go.

He cleared his throat.

"Got all night, Jen," he soothed again. His voice eased her pain so much. She nodded, breathing him in. She knew he'd keep his word. He had promised he wouldn't come over after this. She pushed the thoughts of morning out of her head and dredged up every good, bright memory of Paris.

"Nights like these used to make us late for work," she said. She didn't even try to hide that she was crying. He knew she was, and she was too tired of hiding everything to muster the strength.

She was allowed to be weak tonight.

"Worth it," he drawled. She was going to miss his sarcastic, deep growl. "You always woke up in that damn t-shirt," he reminded her. She nodded, and laughed a little, though it hurt her chest. Well, she'd always gotten cold in the night.

She closed her eyes. He felt her eyelashes brush against his shoulder. He held onto her, for now; for tonight.

_Tomorrow  
><em>_I'm gonna leave here  
><em>_I'm gonna let you go and walk away_

* * *

><p><em>This is for you, Skyler. :)<em>

_-Alexandra_


End file.
